


The Heat of This Moment

by ADevilsHunger (Dream_tempo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Shot, Full Shift Werewolves, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sheath Play, Wolf Derek, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/ADevilsHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It started accidentally, like Stiles enjoys naively believing most of these things do-- Derek happy and excited with his new shape, with being able to just shed what was so heavy about being human and enjoy the simplicities of going full wolf."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heat of This Moment

**Author's Note:**

> One of the prompts that I got from my tumblr.   
> [](http://s1223.photobucket.com/user/Dream_Tempo/media/Prompt1_zps55842351.jpg.html)
> 
> I know the OP was clearly heading in the direction of medical kink, but I tried and failed to find any inspiration down that avenue! I just wasn't happy with anything I produced, so I hope this is okay in it's stead. I kept the sheath play and milking, but went with a more heat of the moment vibe. Sorry if this wasn't what you were looking for!

It started accidentally, like Stiles enjoys naively believing most of these things do-- Derek happy and excited with his new shape, with being able to just shed what was so heavy about being human and enjoy the simplicities of going full wolf. A full step better than his former transformation, no longer being caught in between states, he got to have all of that freedom and wildness, for however long he wished it. And when he shifted back, dirty and naked and breathless, well that was a perk all on its own.

Maybe, at first, it had been weird to watch that burdened, grouchy, restrained man burst into a ball of easily excitable fur, but that was just because Stiles didn't know how to treat him. He knew Derek was still in there, fully conscious and self-aware, but he didn't act like it. For some reason, having a human face seemed to be the threshold for the person Derek is now, compared to the boy he was before all of this happened.

Once Derek shifted, he let himself slide back into what was, what could have been without that single, monumental mistake. Playfully aggressive, dickish, arrogant, _happy._ He ran with the others for miles through the forest, tackled them and wrestled for pieces of rope. He let the girls tease him with a ball and race him to jump into the lake, the boys goad him into smelling weird things and scaring strangers in the park. He even let Jackson sit and comb out all the snags in his fur-- the nitpicky boy taking a particular kind of glee in brushing the twigs and leaves and mud from his coat and making it glisten and shine. 

He was more gentle with Stiles than the others-- painfully human as he was-- but in truth, the boy didn't mind. He liked teasing Derek as he fought to lick every ounce of peanut butter from the soft, rubber toy Stiles had jokingly bought, laughed as Derek bowled him over to try and pop more bubbles on the porch than he, and felt strangely content when they napped together in the sun, his fingers free of trembles when they were carding from that afternoon-warm fur.

The only catch was, once Derek turned back, once his cool eyes and dark brows and firm set jaw were back, they weren't to mention it. It was like split personalities, or even two entirely different people. Not that the more human side of Derek wasn't changing-- not that he wasn't more patient, didn't listen more, didn't make an effort to reengage with society. He was just so much more... careful in his human skin. Not in the most common sense of the word-- he still picked fights and sucked at taking care of himself and made stupid decisions-- but there was a hesitance to everything he did, like he was waiting for the trap to snap around his wrist and bleed him out.

Stiles didn't know what to do about it, didn't know how to address the way they looked at each other, how Derek's hand felt on his shoulder, how it was natural to gravitate toward him the minute they entered the same room. Because Derek wasn't going to call him out on it-- wasn't going to do more than let his gaze roam Stiles' body with heavy intent that would never meet action, his hands linger but never take, his breath hitch, but never find the words of accompaniment.

They just danced around it, and for a while, it was actually fun. Stiles felt his mouth go dry and his lip start to sweat and his cock chub up when their bickering escalated beyond what was normal for disagreeing over take-out as their voices raised and their chests bumped and their bellies heaved. He smirked at the thrill it gave him, loved how it made his ass clench in excitement and his heart thunder. But eventually, all the build up and none of the release just made him feel like he was boiling over.

He didn't want to go back to having nothing, so he tried to be content with what he was given. He found pleasure in the way Derek let his sweatpants ride low enough that his pubes burst over the waist band in the mornings. He liked being invited to go grocery shopping with him during the week and making increasingly gross double entendres out of the names of cheeses and deli meats as Derek's ears turned the most endearing shade of pink. And he got his intimacy out of ruffling his pointed ears and kissing his cold, wet nose, and burying his face in the plush of his scruff while they napped.

Which is what lead them here, in the heat of an early June afternoon, clinging to each other even as it made Stiles' sweat more pungent and Derek's tongue loll out of his mouth in heavy pants. Stiles has been trying to fall asleep for the better part of a half an hour now, a borrowed tank top clinging tightly to his wet skin, his comparably hairy legs batting at Derek's own in frustration, but his arms still stubbornly wrapped around the massive wolf. He knows Derek wouldn't be in the least bit perturbed if he took the next step and nuded up-- modesty is just not a thing with werewolves and Stiles has gotten used to seeing his friend's dicks swinging happy and free at any given moment-- but he already feels uncomfortably spotlit in his boxers and undershirt, outside a refinished, quainter version of the Hale house.

So he tries to focus on Derek instead of himself. He keeps his hold loose, not restricting the other boy's breathing as his rib cage expands with every heavy pant, and wrinkles his nose at the wafting scent off his tongue-- vaguely like he'd licked his own ass sometime recently. Stiles had walked in on that once. They both stood stock still and stared at each other for a good moment before Stiles whirled around and walked the other way. They never talked about it, of course, but he figures Derek went right back to rooting around at the base of his tail and snuffling at those ridiculous low hangers that are on display, no matter the form.

He snorts lightly as he thinks about it and isn't even conscious of his hand trailing south at the thought drifting down the matted fur, along Derek's ribs, past his belly. He's nuzzling the short fur just at the crown of Derek's head when he feels it, when the pads of his fingers brush against the ridge of it. He's so lost in trying not to think, in chasing minute sensations, that he doesn't even realize, that it doesn't begin to occur to him. All he knows is the plush of fur has given way to a sleeker surface-- tight, bound, but still with that easy give.

He hums softly as he curls his palm around the length, noticing its girth before the little prick of wetness against his wrist. He drags his hand along the hanging heft of it, fingertips trailing curiously back up to that touch of liquid. As they come to the rounded end, they poke lightly at the little mouth of it, prodding at the tacky viscosity they find there. Stiles makes a small sound of questioning in his throat, brows raising up as his fingers maneuver to work inside that rim, touching a spongy heat just inside.

It all comes crashing down on him when Derek whimpers, whole body twitching against the one bracketing him. Stiles' eyes fly open and he sits straight up, breath caught uncomfortably in his chest and looks down-- seeing his fingers playing at the opening of Derek's sheath. The tiniest prick of red is starting to poke out amongst the furry, black shaft held tight, but dangling off Derek's haunches, and Stiles' brain is shouting at him that that's  _Derek's dog dick_ , but his fingers just keep stroking. 

Derek himself is still laying still-- aside from the twitches and jerks of his body accompanying another dribble of that watery liquid that is starting to coat Stiles' skin. He's still panting and his tail is idly swishing in the dirt, but as Stiles sits horrified, he doesn't lash out. He doesn't bark or snap, doesn't claw Stiles for molesting him or shift back to tell him how disgusting he is for assaulting him when he's... like this. Those big, intelligent eyes just catch his as he whimpers again and his cock pushes that much further out its sheath.

Stiles' breath shakes and rattles out his lungs when he finally comes back to himself, when he licks his lips and shift infinitesimally closer to the wolf in front of him. He steals a glance out across the preserve-- suddenly feeling that same spotlight as before-- feeling a thousand judging eyes stuck to his back. But everyone else is gone. The whole pack is paired away and out spending the day together. Stiles can't keep the relationships straight these days, so much swapping and backsliding and casual fucks going around that he's groaned at them just to have an orgy already and be done with it. Derek snickered and he himself filed that image away in his spank bank for later. Everyone else just awkwardly made eye contact with each other before drifting away.

He's not sure he has much room to judge anymore, feeling himself chub up as he looks down at Derek's swollen, grey-skinned balls and wonders how they'd feel in his hands-- if they're as heavy as they look, if they're as soft as overripe fruit, if Derek will squirt more pre against his hand were he to squeeze. He remembers all those things he'd guiltily googled late at night, hand down his pants and mouth hanging open. The words mount and knot and tie and bitch ringing around his head as he salivates.

He' doubted they were true about Derek in his beta shift, but this, this he's sure of now. Because Derek's dick is peeking further and further out of its skin and it's mottled red and purple, veiny and pointed and  _wet._ Stiles carefully, slowly swings himself to straddle Derek and rolls the wolf onto his back, looking down at his face again, as if for confirmation. He doesn't get back anything like a nod or a yip, but the wolf doesn't move from beneath him and Stiles knows he could. So he leans forward and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he does, and presses his mouth to the side of Derek's muzzle. 

His breath hitches when his lips encounter fur and Stiles shudders when that same dog-breath smell from before hits his nose. It's not bad, not good, just... there. Another reminder. He hesitates for another long moment before he stutters up and kisses again, this time catching wet skin at the corner of Derek's mouth. The wolf wriggles and makes a little noise of frustration before that big, strong head of his pushes at Stiles' ear before maneuvering down and pushing his chin up. Stiles slides with the movements, his hands cradling and scratching at scratching at Derek's big ears as they're put face-to... muzzle. Derek looks at him again, blinks, and then huffs before dragging his long, agile tongue along Stiles' cheeks and the seam of his lips. 

Stiles gasps and tenses, his grip on Derek's fur tightening almost harshly. The big beast beneath him whines and Stiles thinks he's hurt him until he feels hot, naked flesh tap wetly at his stomach. His shirt has ridden up above his navel and Derek's tapered dog cock is sliding along his treasure trail, throbbing, firm. Stiles' thighs tremble and his hands twist at Derek's fur as he closes his eyes and lets a drawn out moan fall out his lips.

Derek whuffs and wriggles beneath him before taking the opportunity provided by his open mouth and licking inside, nearly choking Stiles on the searching muscle. Stiles' stomach clenches in guilt as he feels his cock spurt pre on the inside of his boxers, but he shoves it aside as he groans and pries his jaw wider, nuzzles down until his nose is brushing Derek's. That broad, flat tongue maps out the inside of his mouth eagerly,  _hungrily_ , dipping deep and curling along the flesh of his cheek. The way Derek feels-- how he tastes-- it's completely different from anything Stiles has ever experienced, and even as it makes him feel filthy, it also makes him crave. 

He rocks his hips against Derek's body, grinding his cock against the wolf's sheath and shuddering when he feel Derek spit thin streaks of pre against his belly. This imitation of kissing-- Stiles holding on for dear life as he lets his mouth get  _ravaged--_ goes on until Derek starts to whine and squirm, withdrawing from their intimacy to beat a paw against Stiles' chest. 

Stiles is confused for a moment, worried he's hurting the wolf, or that Derek is rethinking this all. He backs away slowly, wiping the obscene amount of thick drool from his face as his hands start to tremble and his heart misses a few beats. “What is it? What's wrong?” he murmurs softly, running his fingers through the thick fur on Derek's and clinging to him, even as he's convincing himself to turn away.

Derek's tail thwacks loudly against the loose dirt and he continues to whine, body tossing and turning beneath Stiles. And then he sees it. Between his legs and Derek's. His cock is just as big as Stiles'-- bigger even-- and it's not all the way out. There, at the opening of his sheath, his knot is starting to swell. It's still inside the skin, protected by that warm pocket, and Stiles breathes heavily as he stares.

Slowly, he starts to slide down Derek's body, running his hands down his haunches as he goes. He stares at the hot, red flesh with wide eyes, surprised it's just as thick as Derek is in his human form... at least, before he's hard. He gives the sheath an experimental jack, squeezing just beneath the swollen bulb and jerking it quickly. Derek's whines turn into heavy panting and the pointed tip of his cock starts to spit again.

Stiles groans as he gets down and close with the wolf's dick, continuing to beat him off, growing faster and more confident with each second. His other hand finally reaches down to grope at his huge, breeder balls, rolling them in his palm and testing their firmness. He feels his own dick flex and strain in reply and he furrows his brow and cries out softly, unable to keep himself from burying his face between those twitching legs to get his mouth around them. 

Derek has started to make abortive fucking motions into his hand, making soft barks in his throat and wriggling while Stiles himself grinds against the ground. He yokes Derek's balls as he laves at them, mouth hot and hungry, nose deeply inhaling his musky cock smell. He wants what's in them, knows it's gonna flow hot and endless when he finally fits Derek to burst.

The knot is fighting to push free from it's sheath and Stiles can't help but pop up every few moments to watch it in anticipation, making hurt noises at the sheer size of it. He wants it.  _God_ he fucking wants it. He doesn't even have the headspace anymore to feel awful about all this, just filled to the brim with a kind of need that won't be denied. 

He jerks faster-- harder-- sucking both of Derek's balls into his mouth to roll around his mouth and gag on. The wolf below him is writhing, hips thrusting in time with his movements, legs helpless scratching at his shoulders. Stiles comes up for air, only to drag his cheeks along the length of Derek's dog cock and then flick his tongue against the tip to catch his taste.

Before he even registers it happening, Derek is yipping as he sprays Stiles' face and hair with his watery wolf cum, knot popped and throbbing. Stiles trembles and buries one hand in Derek's fur while the other continues to wring every drop of cum out of him, opening his mouth and gagging to swallow every last drop as it spatters on his neck and down his collar.

He groans when Derek fights to bend himself so he can start licking at Stiles' face, slick tongue roaming his throat and delving into his mouth to mix the two tastes. It's only twenty minutes later, while Stiles is nursing Derek's sheath and licking into that channel, that he realizes he must have creamed his shorts. He can feel the cum cool and itching in his pubes and the creases of his thighs, and things it must have been more than once to produce the amount he's feeling. He's gonna have to throw these boxers away... or maybe keep to bury his nose in every time he spanks it to this memory.

Because he doesn't dare-- not for one second-- let himself think that it might happen again, that Derek might want it, that it might be acknowledged. It was just the result of bottling up all that sexual tension and then lying outside to let his brain fry all day. Hell, he's half sure the whole thing was just the filthiest fucking wet dream he's even had. After Derek's slipped back inside his sheath and Stiles has sated his fascination with it (for now-- once Derek's dick receded, he noticed the pocket was loose without him in it, that much like a human foreskin it could be docked, fucked even-- and how is he supposed to ignore that?) he crawls back up the wolf and moves to mirror their prior position.

He pets Derek softly and tenderly, playing with his ears a moment before closing his eyes and nuzzling the crown of his head. He squeezes the wolf's middle before dropping a kiss to his fur and tangling their legs. Finally, he falls asleep.

* * *

 

Stiles wakes up in a bed in the Hale house, sure now it wasn't real... until Derek walks in, human and naked and hard.

 


End file.
